Page 3 of No More Heartbreakers

“I’m fine. Just… hot.”

“Do they have you working outside again?” Sympathy and disapproval oozed through the phone.

“Well, reporting does require leaving the building every once in a while.”

I didn’t dare tell my mother the real source of my frustration. She’d be in her car and over here in ten minutes flat if she thought I might be in any sort of jam whatsoever.

If the average overprotective mom was a helicopter parent, Marjorie Haynes was a Black Hawk chopper. My dad was even worse.

And the house I grew up in waswaytoo close to the neighborhood where I was working today.

“Well, there’s no need to get sassy with me Heidi,” Mom chided. “I wanted to make sure you’re coming for supper Monday. I found the perfect house online for you and Hale.”

“Yes, I’ll be there. But Hale won’t be coming.”

“Why not? He doesn’t work at the ranch at night, does he? We were all looking forward to seeing him.”

I hesitated, an uncomfortable sliver of pain snaking through my belly. “He... we... I don’t really have time to explain right now. I’m on kind of a tight deadline. I’ll see you Monday night, okay?”

“Wait. Did something hap—”

I hit the end button and took a minute to calm myself. Getting aggravated over Mom’s meddling and my messed-up love life would only make it more difficult to remember the exact words I was supposed to say.

Three kids emerged from a nearby house and ran across the front yard toward me. I sighed. They must’ve spotted me through a window and decided to check out the novelty of a news camera on their sidewalk.

I so did not have time for this. Ihadto shoot something resembling a decent stand-up and get back to the station in time to edit my story for the six o’clock news.

“Are you the TV lady? Can we be on TV?” One of the boys—he looked around ten years old—bit off the top of the Popsicle in his hand and gave me a grapey grin.

A smaller girl, maybe his sister, jumped in front of the camera, making faces for the unseeing lens. The other boy inspected the camera closely and then reached for a button with a sticky finger.

I stepped forward, one hand outstretched toward him. “Hey—you can’t touch that, buddy, okay?”

The curious kid stepped back, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushing. His small companions froze in place, watching me.

Shoot.In my haste to protect the station’s twenty-thousand-dollar camera—which I definitely couldn’t afford to replace—I’d sounded harsher than I’d intended.

“No—it’s okay. It’s just I’ll get in big trouble if anything happens to this camera. Ask me if you want to touch it, and I’ll show you how it works.”

All three kids visibly relaxed. The little girl took a slurp of her orange ice pop. “Are you going to put us on?”

I walked over and leaned down. “It depends. I’m doing a story about mosquito spraying. Are you a mosquito?”

The girl giggled. “No.”

“Well, then, I don’t think I can do it this time. Sorry.”

The smile dropped from her plump face. “Oh. Okay. At least we can see our street on the news.” She sat on the curb, resting a cheek on her palm, so defeated.

My heart clenched in a short, sharp pang. “Hey, you know what? We do need a weather shot for tonight’s news. If I film you, do you think y’all could manage to look like you’re hot?”

The kids laughed, and Grape-Popsicle-Boy rolled his eyes toward his sweating brow. “Ye-a-h.” He dragged the word out into three syllables.

“Okay, so we’ve got to make this look good. Let’s think. What do you do to cool off, besides eating Popsicles?”

“We can go on the swings.” The girl sprang up and bounced on her toes. “That makes a breeze.”

“Great idea. You’ll have to ask your mom first.”

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